


Something To Tell You

by jesvisfarovche



Series: Sous Le Ciel De Paris [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Flashbacks, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Pining Enjolras, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesvisfarovche/pseuds/jesvisfarovche
Summary: In which Enjolras wakes up with Grantaire by his side and remembers how it all began before he can properly talk about his feelings.





	Something To Tell You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to After Hours, but can be read as a standalone piece

Enjolras wakes up with a strange feeling. Usually he has trouble getting any sleep at night, his thoughts run frantically through his head and he ends up staring at the ceiling, contemplating every problem in the world. That’s just the way he is - worried, anxious, always desperate to make a change. Always scared of failure. He would always put on a brave face in front of people, even his friends. How the hell is he supposed to help others if he’s riddled with doubts?

He can not always hide it, sometimes after the meeting Courfeyrac would put a hand on his shoulder and whisper “Breathe". Enjolras would smile and nod. It's a miracle he had ended up with such good friends, surrounded by caring and passionate people. Even if Grantaire sometimes gets on his nerves with his intrusive commentary.

(Not that Enjolras minds it that much).

Grantaire. Right.

This is way he feels different. Usually he wakes up with a sense of urgency, a need to be somewhere. And a need to ingest a gallon of coffee, to be honest  But now it's different. Now he feels calm and…relaxed.

Now there's a pair of strong arms holding him tightly.

Grantaire is here. In his bed.

A couple of months ago he could not imagine it happening.

 

The first time he ever saw Grantaire,  the man was in a middle of a drunken speech. He was jumping from point to point, basically covering everything from art to politics while standing on top of a table in the Corinthe. Bahorel had brought Enjolras there to try to recruit new people to their cause. And just as Bahorel was introducing him to Feuilly – his friend interested in joining Les Amis – Enjolras felt a gaze on him. When he turned, he saw the man that was ranting just a few minutes before. Now he was sitting on a bar chair and shamelessly staring at Enjolras.

Enjolras was used to attention. He knew people found him attractive. Sometimes it helped him, sometimes it was an obstacle. Sometimes Enjolras didn’t even care about his looks and sometimes he would trade them for anything. People would often try to flirt with him, but they’d go away as soon as he opened his mouth. He didn’t care much about it. He wasn’t looking for love, not even for a night. What he cared about is making the world a better place.

His family was rich, and comfort and luxury was all Enjolras ever known. That is, until he began to realize that all the money that went into pointless soireés and clothes and dinners and honestly outrageous amounts of expensive alcohol could’ve gone to better causes.  When he tried to preach to his parents they sent him away to a boarding school so he wouldn’t embarrass them in front if their friends. That was the first crack in their connection that would later become a drift. That drift would never disappear.

Boarding school was a challenging experience, but it didn't change who he was. What it did was introducing him to Courfeyrac and Combeferre whom he became fast friends with. It was the first time he ever felt accepted and understood. Their connection only grew with years and after graduating school the three of them entered the walls of the Sorbonne practically joined at the hip.

Well, it was slightly different for Combeferre and Courfeyrac who would later discover that their love for one another and their love for Enjolras were of a different kind. Enjolras was happy about them getting together. Of course they wouldn’t spend as much time with him as they would with each other, but they were still his closest friends, his chosen family.

Coufeyrac would often offer to introduce Enjolras to someone, and Enjolras would politely decline (sometimes less politely, blame it on his stress). He didn’t feel the need to be with someone, he could never fully commit to another person like he was committed to his causes. And deep in his heart he knew no one would accept him the way he is anyway.

There was nothing new about this situation, yet something was different. Any other time Enjolras would simply turn away. But now he felt like it was a test. So he looked back. The man had dark messy curls, and his face was not classically handsome but there was something strangely attractive about it. There was a playful smile on his lips and a mischivous glimmer in his blue (as Enjolras would later learn) eyes. And when their eyes met, the man's smile became wider and he winked at Enjolras. Enjolras just rolled his eyes and turned away to Bahorel and his friend.

Still feeling a burning gaze on the back of his head, Enjolras gathered all his strength to focus on Feuilly, who seemed to be a perfect addition to Les Amis, a working-class man and an immigrant with more experience with the difficulties in life than the rest of them. He would keep them grounded and focused. Plus, he seemed like a great guy overall.

Apparently Feuilly had thought the same about Enjolras, because now he was asking about the meetings schedule and the general plans of the group.

“Do you know the Musain?”

Feuilly nodded.

“We meet there three times a week, usually around seven. Sometimes they let us use the backrooms and stay after closing time. There aren’t too many of us, but the guys are great.”

Feuilly gave him a smile and shook his hand.

“Then I hope I’ll fit in well with the rest"

“Of course, you will!”, exclaimed Bahorel, putting a hand on Feuilly’s shoulder, “It's like Jojo said, the guys are great!”.

It was Courfeyrac who came up with the damn nickname. Enjolras made a mental note to strangle him next time they meet.

“Just don’t call me _that_ , and everything will be alright", Enjolras said, making a face.

Feuilly and Bahorel laughed in unison.

“Do you mind if I join in the fun?”, Enjolras heard coming from behind him.

The voice was low and slightly raspy and it nearly made a shiver go all over Enjolras's spine. Never had a simple sound ever made him feel that way. Perhaps he had a weakness for a nice sounding baritone. That, and blue eyes. Like those he saw the minute he turned towards the sound.

It was the same man from earlier. He was slightly shorter than Enjolras, but the height difference was erased by the way his curly hair stuck upwards, defying the laws of gravity. There was a slight stubble on his cheeks and his eyes were just illegally blue.

Enjolras learned that he was into men years ago, but it was now when he fully _realized_ that fact. And he didn't really know what to do with this realization. He felt his palms begin to sweat and a lump form in his throat.

Enjolras knew how to deal with a lot of things. Physical attraction was usually one of them. He would just shake it off and move on easily. Not this time, it seemed. And Enjolras had no idea how to deal with it.

Thankfully he didn't have to do or say anything.

“R!”, Bahorel let go of Feuilly to go and grab the man into a bone crushing hug.

The first time Bahorel hugged him, Enjolras thought his ribs were broken. Combeferre convinced him that everything was alright but Enjolras could swear they hurt for weeks. Not out loud of course. He wouldn’t put his reputation at risk. That was Courfeyrac's job with his stupid nicknames (yes, he hadn't forgotten).

The man – R, his memory prompted –  seemed to handle the embrace pretty well. In fact, he effortlessly squeezed Bahorel in return. That wasn’t attractive at all, by the way. Just a bit impressive.

Finally Bahorel let go of his friend and turned back to Enjolras and Feuilly.

“This is R", he said, “He’s my sparring partner. R, this is Feuilly – he’s a great guy – and this is Enjolras.

“Nice to meet you", R gave them a smile and extended his hand.

“Likewise", said Feuilly, moving for a handshake.

Then it was Enjolras's turn to shake the man's hand, he felt his heart beginning to beat faster. There was something intriguing about R. Part of him wanted to get closer while another part begged him to run away and hide.

The hand was warm and rough like a worker's hand. Enjolras's own hands knew only the comfort of a desk and pen. The touch was rough, but it still felt nice. Way nicer than Enjolras would admit.

“Nice to meet you”, he said in a coarse voice, “R”.

The man smiled.

“It's Grantaire, actually”, he said, running fingers through his hair, “R is just a nickname. It's a pun".

“A pun,” – Enjolras repeated, dumbly.

“You know, Grantaire – Grand R - R.”

“Oh, right!”, Enjolras couldn’t suppress a smile, “That’s neat!”.

“Thank you.”

They stared at each other in silence for a second.

“That's how he signs his paintings!”, Bahorel’s voice came from nowhere.

Paintings, Enjolras thought, of course he paints. He probably plays an instrument and speaks Spanish too. Because life isn’t cruel enough.

“So you’re an artist?”

R – Grantaire – shrugged.

“What I paint is just silly daub”,  he said, “Not real art.”

“I beg to differ!”, Bahorel said.

Grantaire shook his head.

“Enough about me. What are the three of you doing here?”

“Just spreading the word about our group”, said Bahorel.

“Your group?”

“I’ve told you, remember? Les Amis de L'ABC. Feuilly’s our newest member”.

“Wasn’t that before you nearly knocked me out?”

Bahorel laughed.

“Yeah, I was on a roll that day.”

“I noticed. So did my face.”

“Don’t worry, R” Bahorel playfully nudged him, “Your face is not your most attractive attribute.”

They broke into a full belly laughter. Enjolras and Feuilly looked at each other and shrugged.

“Anyway”, Grantaire said, calming down, “ABC?”.

“It's a pun”, - Enjolras said, “You know-“

“ABC – _abaisse_ – the oppressed. I got it".

Of course he did.

“So what it is you’re doing?”

“Just trying to make a difference.”

“How?”

“We organize rallies, we try to inform people. We-".

Grantaire raised a hand to stop him.

“Wait a minute, _Apollo_. Do you really think your rallies will help? Do you really think the government will listen?”

“Yes”, said Enjolras, his jaw tensing, "If we work hard enough."

Grantaire chuckled and shook his head.

“Why are the pretty ones always so-“

“So?”

“So hopelessly idealistic?”

“You think I’m hopeless?”

“I think you’re delusional.”

“Guys…”, Bahorel tried to chime in.

“So you think it's better to just sit and do nothing?”

“I think there's no point in trying to stir the pot. What difference can a group of students make?”

“Well it's better to try-“

“Guys…”

“Better than what? Just trying to live one's life in peace? Nothing’s going to change. Your group might as well start giving away baked goods*. That’d do more good for the community.”

“How can you be so sure that there’s no way to make a difference if you haven’t even tried? Yes, we cannot change the world, we cannot fix every problem. But we can inspire people. We can convince them to uses their voices to make a change. And maybe, little by little, the world will become a better place. And it's better to try and fail than to do nothing.”

“Guys!”

“When does your group meet?”, Grantaire said. Strangely, all aggression was gone from his voice.

“What?”

Grantaire repeated his question. Slowly.

“Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays at the Musain. At seven.”

“Good. I’ll be there.”

And just like that, he was gone.

“I need a goddamn drink”, said Bahorel

“On me", said Feuilly

 

Enjolras had nor expected Grantaire to actually show up, nut he did. He appeared right on time, ordered something to drink and introduced himself to the rest of Les Amis. Somehow he managed to get along with everyone, especially with Joly and Bossuet. The three of them sat at a table at the back of the café and proceeded to chat through the entire meeting. God knows what they were even talking about.

While Enjolras and Combeferre were announcing the new plans for protests on campus, he caught Grantaire looking at him. Several times. Each time Enjolras turned away, resuming his speech, but he could still feel Grantaire's eyes on the back of his head. He did his best to ignore the tingling feeling growing in his stomach.

It was only when the meeting ended that Enjolras had gathered the strength to go and talk to Grantaire. Perhaps there was still some hope for the sceptic. But when Enjolras turned to Grantaire's table, it was empty. Trying to ignore his disappointment, Enjolras turned back. And right in front of him stood Grantaire,  with his blue eyes and dark curls. And his full lips twisted in a smirk. 

“Interesting meeting”, said Grantaire in that damn melodic baritone.

“Interesting?”

“Yeah, you guys are a lovely group. So smart, so passionate-”

“Thank y-”

“So naïve”, Grantaire was still smirking. That bastard.

Enjolras just stared at him, his mouth open.

“Don’t think too much about it. How does the saying go? It's not you, it’s me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You all truly believe in your cause, and that is great. Just not for me. I take great care not to believe in anything.”

Enjolras tilted his head.

“So you believe in nothing?”

Grantaire shrugged.

“I try to”, he licked his lips. Enjolras could barely stop himself from repeating the motion. “It doesn’t always work, though. I have my weaknesses.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“Like I said, don’t think too much about it. Lovely meeting, lovely people. Lovely speech”, he winked, “Goodbye, Enjolras.”

Enjolras watched him leave. It was only when the door clicked that he realized he hadn’t asked Grantaire if he would come again.

 

Grantaire came to every meeting. He would always sit at the same table, and Enjolras would always feel watched. After a while, instead of listening in silence or just chatting with some of the other Amis (he seemed to favor Joly and Bossuet, but he had managed to connect with everyone – including Combeferre, to Enjolras's great surprise) he would sometimes interrupt Enjorlas with his comments. Some of them were useful (not that Enjolras would admit it out loud), but mostly they were jokes at his expense. Worst of all – everyone would actually laugh with Grantaire, even Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the traitors.

Enjolras hated it. Mostly because he couldn’t understand why it was so amusing for Grantaire to point out the holes in his rhetoric. Why did he even come to the meetings? He didn’t seem to like Enjolras very much. That was another problem. Grantaire became inseparable with Joly and Bossuet. He would often discuss poetry with Jehan. Courfeyrac liked him. Bahorel was his sparring partner. Feuilly played chess with him. Even Combeferre of all people befriended him soon enough. Grantaire got along with everyone except Enjolras.

And Enjolras didn’t like it. Not that he was desperate to be liked by everyone; he knew his intense nature was off-putting to most people. He just did not expect Grantaire to be one of them. It was strange. Enjolras could swear the first time they had met Grantaire had been flirting with him (he even wanted to ask Bahorel and Feuilly about it, but stopped himself). What has changed?

And there it was – the final problem. Enjolras – who had always fancied himself a man not concerned with romance – had found himself falling for someone. He made this realization mid-fall, when just casting a glance at Grantaire during a meeting had caused his breath to falter and his palms to sweat. He truly felt like he was falling into an abyss.

He didn’t get any sleep the following night. He twisted and turned in his bed, attacked by his thoughts. He paced around his apartment trying to find a way to deal with his emotions. He could not confess to Grantaire – the man would just laugh at him, or worse, pity him. The best thing to do would be just letting the feeling go away. That was exactly what Enjolras decided to do as the sun was rising.

He went to his classes, satisfied with his decision. When Combeferre worriedly asked him about the dark circles under his eyes Enjolras just shrugged and said something about a difficult assignment. He spent the next meeting successfully trying not to look at Grantaire. And when the man was loudly bragging about his latest conquest, it barely hurt. Barely.

 

It didn’t last long. Les Amis were trying to design the signs for the next protest when Grantaire arrived (ten minutes late). He asked them what they were doing. Courfeyrac answered before Enjolras could open his mouth.

“Oh, I could help! I’ve studied art for a couple of years, you know”

“You’re an artist?”, asked Enjolras in a weak voice.

Grantaire shrugged.

“Well, I was not the best student, to say the least”, the was a familiar glint of sadness in his eyes, but Grantaire blinked it away in a second, “But I can deal with posters. I think”

“Okay then.”

Grantaire took his place, right next to Enjolras. He pulled out something – a sketchbook.

“I may have had a couple ideas, actually,” he said, looking at Enjolras. And then he smiled bashfully, “Inspired by our leader's latest rant.”

Enjolras could feel himself blushing. Thankfully the others were busy looking through Grantaire’s sketches.

“Those are great, R!” – exclaimed Jehan.

“Those are rough. I’ll come up with something better, I promise. But thank you”, Grantaire gave Jehan a warm smile.

“How long will it take you to make the posters?”, asked Courfeyrac, “Do you need help?”

“It’s alright. It will take me a day or two. I’ll start today and bring them to the next meeting.”

And so he went back to his flat to work on the posters. When the meeting ended, Enjolras noticed that Grantaire had left his sketchbook behind. He tried to fight his curiosity, but it had consumed him completely.

Grantaire hadn’t shown them all the pages. Enjolras did not know much about art, but he could tell that Grantaire had been understating his talents. Among the sketches for posters were portraits of people. Most of them were unknown, but there were a couple sketches of Joly and Bossuet, sometimes with some young woman (probably Musichetta, their mistress), a picture of Feuilly (a great picture), and then Enjolras saw something that nearly made him drop the sketchbook. There was a sketch of him, portraying him in the middle of an angry tirade, so it seemed. Beside it there was something written in Greek, and Enjolras felt angry with himself for not learning the language. With his hands shaking he began to turn the pages. And there was his face, numerous versions of it. His angry face, his focused face, even one with a smile. Each picture was drawn with great care and attention. With _fondness._ No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

“What are you looking at?”, asked Courfeyrac, coming up behind him.

“Nothing”, Enjolras slammed the sketchbook shut.

“R forgot his sketchbook!”, Courfeyrac stretched out his hand, “Give it to me, I’ll take it to him.”

“It's fine. I’ll take it.”

“You don’t even know where he lives!”

“I said, it’s fine!”

At this very moment the door opened and in came Grantaire. His cheeks were red and his curls looked even more messed up than earlier. As if he'd been running.

“Hey, guys, did you see my sketchbook?”, Grantaire's voice was low and breathy.

“It's here", said Enjolras before Courfeyrac could even open his mouth, “We've just found it.”

“Oh”, was all Grantaire said.

His coat was dark green. The color complemented his skin wonderfully. 

“Can I…take it?”

“Sure", Enjolras snapped out of his slumber, “Here"

“Thank you.”

Their fingers brushed a little when Grantaire took back the sketchbook. And the feeling was enough for Enjolras to realize his small infatuation wasn’t gone. And it wasn’t small.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire like he had never seen him before. This man – the man with a loud mouth and the bluest eyes in the world, who sometimes (more like often) drank too much and talked too much, who was incredibly well-read and talented in arts but would never give himself enough credit – had stolen his heart. That's what he gets for wearing it on his sleeve.

“I should go”, said Grantaire. The blue of his eyes somehow got darker. “I have posters to make.”

“Sure”, breathed out Enjolras.

The door closed behind Grantaire. Enjolras blinked, coming back to his senses. He heard a chuckle. When he turned he saw Courfeyrac smirking.

“What?”

“Nothing”, there was a playful glimmer in his eyes, saying the opposite.

“What?”

“I said it's nothing. Let’s go. It's getting late.”

That night Enjolras's dreams were filled with vibrant colors, warm rough hands roaming over his body, dark curls that smelled like honey. He woke up sweating and confused about what he had to do.

 

“I think I might have feelings of Grantaire”, he told Courfeyrac as they were sitting at a café table a couple days after his realization.

“Oh”, said Courfeyrac, pouring himself some tea, “What kind of feelings?”

“Now you’re just teasing.”

Courfeyrac grinned.

“I am."

Enjolras crumpled a napkin and threw at him.

“I’d still like you to say it, though. Loud and clear.”

“Why?”

“So I can remember this moment forever, of course.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I think I’m in love with Grantaire”, he mumbled.

It was the first time he had ever said it out loud.

Courfeyrac studied his face carefully.

“And how does that make you feel?”

“I don’t know! Scared? Anxious? Angry because I don’t know what to do?”

“My boy!”, Courfeyrac tried to hug him across the table but he nearly knocked it over. Instead, he stood up and approached Enjolras. “It’s so nice to see you in love! It becomes you!”, he said, nearly choking Enjolras with his embrace.

Courfeyrac let him go and sat back down.

“So, what are you going to say to R?”

“Um, why should I say anything to him?”

“Because you have to confess your feelings! Otherwise you will suffer.”

“I’m suffering already.”

“Then tell him!”

Enjolras scoffed.

“He’ll either laugh at me or feel guilty for not returning my feelings.”

“He will not laugh at you”, said Courfeyrac, sipping his tea.

Enjolras took a deep breath.

“Do you think there’s a chance – even a small one – that he might feel the same?”

Courfeyrac started laughing so hard that he choked on his tea.

“I’m fine, fine!” he said, still laughing, “You should talk to him.”

Enjolras just nodded. Courfeyrac grabbed his hand.

“Promise me you will talk to him.”

“I promise.”

“Good boy.”

 

Enjolras did not talk to Grantaire – not for the lack of trying. His first attempt happened during a protest. Les Ami came with posters – amazing posters – that Grantaire had made for them. For an hour they were chanting catchy slogans (written by Grantaire), until the police showed up. And then they had to run. Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s hand and ran.

“No, not here. It's a dead end!”, Grantaire took charge and led them to a safer place.

He navigated the streets with ease. Bahorel once told Enjolras that Grantaire knew Paris like the back of his hand. It seemed to be true.

They ended up in some backyard. Grantaire stopped, panting.

“Let’s wait for awhile. Then we'll find the others.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. His lungs were burning and his head was pounding loudly. Though he didn’t know if the cause of the later was running or the presence of one particular artist.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine”, breathing slowly became easier, “What about you?”

“Same.”

Grantaire sat on the ground.

“You know Paris really well.”

“I must be good at something, right?”

“You’re a great artist, too.”

“You know nothing about art, _Apollo_ ”, Grantaire smiled, “Even if you look like a piece of art.”

Enjolras could feel his ears burning.

Maybe this is the right time, he thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but Grantaire stood up.

“We should go to the Musain. The others might come there.”

“Sure.”

 

His other attempts were also either interrupted or ruined by his own cowardice. At last, last night he decided it was the time to take a chance. Grantaire fell asleep during the meeting. Enjolras decided it was a sign. When everybody left, he stayed behind, claiming he needed to finish an essay. The essay wasn’t due until next Monday, but that was an unnecessary detail. Coufeyrac winked at him ad they said goodbye and Combeferre just raised an eyebrow.

Two hours later, Grantaire was still asleep. The essay was finished, and Enjolras was biding his time just looking at the man. Grantaire was so different now, he looked much younger. There were no traces of doubts and worry on his face, he was just calm and peaceful. Enjolras could only hope to see Grantaire like this when he’s awake. He could barely keep himself from touching Grantaire.

It's been a while since he had realized his feelings, but it was still unusual for him to be in love. He hoped Grantaire would let him down gently, for he did not know if he was strong enough to deal with a broken heart. Even more than that he hoped Grantaire would say he felt the same. But that was just a silly dream.

Enjolras kept waiting for Grantaire to wake up, until he couldn’t wait any longer. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Grantaire!”

 

And now here they are. The apartment is quiet. All Enjolras can hear is Grantaire's heartbeat and the ambient sounds of the street. He opens his eyes.

“Good morning", he says. His voice is raspy.

“Hi", Grantaire smiles at him, “It's well past noon, actually.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, did you have somewhere to be? I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Enjolras smiles and presses a finger to Grantaire's lips.

“I don’t have to go anywhere”, he whispers.

“Me neither”, says Grantare.

Enjolras pulls him closer and kisses him. It seemed like an impossible thing just yesterday, but today it was the easiest thing in the world. His hand is tangled in Grantaire's dark curls while the other one strokes the man's face. There's a slight stubble. Enjolras can still remember how it felt on his skin - on his neck, and his chest, and his stomach - last night.

Grantaire bites on a sensitive spot behind his ear, and Enjolras let’s out a soft moan.

Grantaire chuckles against his neck.

“You know, I still can’t believe it’s really happening.”

“Me neither”, says Enjolras and pulls on his hair, “We have to make sure.”

“That we do.”

And so Grantaire kisses him again, taking his breath away.

“R”, groans Enjolras, “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Grantaire pins him down, and suddenly Enjolras is aware that neither of them has any clothes on. Every inch of his skin is connected to Grantaire and the feeling is driving him insane. It's burning him inside out.

Grantaire bites his neck, gently.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

“So are you”, breathes out Enjolras, “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” asks Grantaire while his hand is doing despicable things.

“I can't talk like this. I won’t remember my own name if you keep going.”

“Didn’t you tell me not to stop?”, Grantaire nibs at his earlobe, “As for your name, I’ll make sure to remind you.”

And so he does. In the next hour or so (he has lost the sense of time, to be honest), Enjolras hears his name in Grantaire's voice a thousand times, said, whispered and moaned against his skin. And he returns the favor.

“Grantaire", he says when they’re out of breath and out of energy, still laying in his bed, “I need to tell you something.”

Grantaire smiles at him and nods.

“I’m in love with you”, Enjolras takes his eyes off of Grantaire for a second. When he looks back, the other man stares at him with his mouth slightly open, “You don’t have to say it back. You don’t owe me anything. I just had to say ìt. It's been killing me for months.”

“I’m sorry”, says Grantaire and Enjolras feels his heart sink, “I’m sorry that you had to feel this way.”

“It's fin-”

“I’m in love with you too.”

“What?”

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we’ve met, I think. It just took me a lot of time to understand it.”

Enjolras blinks.

“Why do you think I’ve joined Les Amis? I mean, the guys are great, I love them, but I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for you.”

Grantaire chuckles.

“Don’t tell me you didn't know!”

“I thought you didn’t like even like me!”

“I thought you detested me!”

They laugh in unison.

Grantaire pulls him closer.

“We’re a pair of fools, aren't we?”

Enjolras nods in agreement.

“Is that what we are?”, he asks, “A pair?”

“Do you want us to be?”

Enjolras strokes Grantaire's cheek and plants a soft kiss on it.

“I want you”, he says, “All of you.”

“And you wouldn’t mind my annoying remarks during meetings?”

“No.”

“What about the paints and the paintbrushes everywhere?”

“I like that you’re an artist.”

“What about my self-loathing habits?”

“Are you trying to discourage me from being with you?”

Grantaire shakes his head.

“I just don’t want to see you grow to hate me.”

“I could never hate you”, Enjolras kisses him, hard, as if to prove his point, “I love you. And I hope you’ll learn to love yourself too.”

“I love you.”

Enjolras smiles.

“And I’m not perfect either. Are you sure you want to be with me?”

“Oh, I know. You can be truly terrible”, Grantaire laughs, “But this is why I fell for you. I want all of you too.”

Enjolras presses their foreheads together.

“So it is settled, then? We are a couple now”

Grantaire takes his hand and interlaces their fingers.

“It is”, he presses a kiss to their joined hands, “We are”.

It is this moment when Enjolras feels truly happy. He’s known many joys that would take over him and then fade away in a minute. But what he feels now, he thinks, will last for a long time. And as he looks into Grantaire's impossibly blue eyes he knows he’s right.

“Shall we tell the others?”, asks Grantaire. “That we’re now together?”

“Yes”, says Enjolras, “But let’s have some time just for ourselves.”

“That is an excellent idea. Now, do we stay here for the day – not that I would mind – or do we go somewhere else?”

Enjolras grins.

“I’ve heard you know the best places in Paris?”

“That I do.”

“Will you show me then?”

Grantaire nods and kisses him.

“Put on some clothes, _Apollo_ , and we shall go.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> * - The line about baked goods may look random, but it`s not. Abaisse also means rolled dough in French, so it`s Grantaire trying to insult Enjolras with a pun, because he`s a nerd. And so am I.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Thank you for reading my fic! Please, feel free to comment <3  
> 


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